


Fourteen Million, Six Hundred and Five

by andromedaflynn



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, mrpb, mrpb2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 17:36:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18855811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andromedaflynn/pseuds/andromedaflynn
Summary: A strangled scream wakes you from your sleep, but what has Stephen’s nights so filled with pain?Written for Marvel Rare Pair Bingo 2019. Prompt: Hurt/Comfort





	Fourteen Million, Six Hundred and Five

> **Summary:** A strangled scream wakes you from your sleep, but what has Stephen’s nights so filled with pain?
> 
> **Ship:** Stephen Strange/Reader
> 
> **Word Count:**  1.4k+
> 
> **Triggers:**  PTSD, Nightmares
> 
> **Author’s Notes:**  I’d love to say I’m sorry for this, but I’m not. This is just angst and sadness… Enjoy? This fic is for [@marvelrarepairbingo](https://tmblr.co/mo2wuEAzOLEZs-C4nrbnivw) for my square: Hurt/Comfort
> 
> **Taglist:**  [@reviewfanfics](https://tmblr.co/mdBRz93Vo4FGdtfFBmaI1pg) & [@peachy-parkers](https://tmblr.co/mSIsMlaEZM3C-4RvJ4JIZUg)
> 
> _[Want to be added to a tag list? Click here!](https://idiotwithabowandarrow.tumblr.com/taglists) _

A strangled scream tore you from your blissful dreams, a stark reminder that you were no longer alone. You awoke with a gasp, mind racing to memories both old and new of those same sounds tearing through the battlefields. But you were not in fight, there was no danger. You were in your room, those distinctive shades of blue satin and silk covering the tall windows, hiding non existent rays of sunshine and magnifying that wonder feel of mystery the building held so well. You were safe here. **  
**

Another scream echoed down the hallway, this time clearer, a haunting tone of utter heartache and, worst of all, your name. You shot up, throwing the blankets off you before you could even identify where the sound had come from. But it didn’t matter, your sleep fogged mind may not have caught up to the situation at hand, but your body was already on the move, grabbing your robe from over the chair as you blindly scrambled through the darkness for your door.

You reached the hallway before you could even truly comprehend what was happening, your eyes wide as you tried to grapple the situation. Another sound, not a scream but a cry, quieter than before but still as cutting, and you knew without a shadow of a doubt where it had come from. You hesitated in front of the door, hand on the door knob, not sure whether you should knock or just enter, or not intrude at all and simply hope he would be alright. No, you couldn’t just leave him, not with those soul crushing sounds he was emitting, you were friends after all, and friends don’t leave friends to their nightmares.

With a deep breath, attempting to reassure yourself that this was the right thing to do, that he wouldn’t hate you when he woke, you pushed forwards, entering the room quietly. You hadn’t been in there before, well, not while he was around. After the snap you had found yourself gravitating towards the room, seeking comfort from the familiar items and calming distinguishable scent his items provided.

But that had been then, it was different now. The light of the hallway trickled into the once perfectly neat room, showing the piles of washing, the upturned furniture, the way things had seemingly been thrown around in fits of emotions you had not been privy to. It was unsettling to say the least. But the lack of organisation was not your priority now.

Leaving the door open just enough to find your way towards the bed where the muttering, thrashing form of one Stephen Strange lay tangled up in his sheets, you slowly crept forwards, not wanting to startle him. With a hand outstretched, you moved to touch him, hoping to ease him into being awake, but you stopped at the last second, your hand hovering uselessly above his thrashing torso. There was no semblance of the cool, calm and collected man you knew, no hint of his usual composure or carefully concocted confidence. The mask was gone, his true emotions and fears coursing through his dreams with reckless abandon. In all the years you had known him, in all that time you had trained at his side, you had never seen this side of him. You didn’t know this Stephen.

But you weren’t about to let this continue, it was becoming far too much like some teenage fantasy novel with you hovering over his sleeping form. Yet another calming breath, and you gently touched his bare shoulder, your hand cold against his heated skin, as you gently called to him.

“Stephen?” you spoke barely above a whisper, worry filling your tone as you edged your way closer to the side of the bed. “Stephen, wake up, it’s just a bad dream.”

The haunting sounds coming from deep within him shifted into a low whimpering, no longer as heartfelt but still achingly sad. Your hand gently ran across his shoulder, offering silent reassurance in soft strokes as you moved closer to the bed once more, your legs hitting the edge of the mattress. A frown etched in your brow, you leant forwards to attempt to see his features, desperately hoping to see him relaxing, but his forehead was still bound in tight lines.

“Stephen,” you tried once more, louder this time as you moved closer still, but he did not wake. Whatever was plaguing his dreams seemed to have a steady hold on him. Your thoughts raced back to all those years you spent without him and Wong, training those who were left by day, crying yourself to sleep by night. You knew all too well the terrifying grip nightmares could have on you, you could remember the way you had found yourself caught night after night rewatching those around you turn to dust as you stood there hopeless to do anything to help them. You wouldn’t let memories of past battles claim him as well.

“Stephen, wake up, please,” you didn’t mean for it to sound like a plea, but desperation filled your voice as your hand moved against him with more weight to it.

His eyes opened suddenly, wide with fear as they darted about the room anxiously before settling on you. Taking a visibly deep breath to try and calm himself, he reached one shaking hand up to hold yours tightly against his shoulder, relaxing only when he had it firmly in his grip. His gaze met yours with a shocking tell of fear and desperation behind his eyes, searching for answers to questions you did not know.

A reassuring, if shaky, smile reached your lips as you let your free hand tuck some of the wayward hair away from his face in what you hoped was a calming action. Judging by the way his features softened at the action, it had worked. But his hand did not relax in its hold of yours.

“Are you alright?” the question left your lips before you could even consider it, instantly regretting the idiocy of the words. Of course he wasn’t alright, he had clearly been plagued by horrifying thoughts of which you could only imagine.

“You’re here,” he spoke the words so softly you weren’t entirely certain you had caught them correctly. But the way he stared at you with such burning intensity, as if trying to reassure himself and fearing he was imagining you all at once, told you you had caught them correctly.

“Of course I’m here,” you offered him a smile once more, your free hand tracing lines against his furrowed brow, hoping to ease the tension they showed. “Where else would I be?”

He didn’t answer your question. Instead, his hand tightened around yours, pulling you towards him until you found yourself scrambling for space as you were guided onto the bed beside him. You might have questioned it, might have even rejoiced in the fact that here you were, laying down in the man of your dreams’ bed, his arms wrapping tightly around you as guided you until your back was firmly against his chest. His hold was tight, but not forceful, needing that reassurance that you were really there whilst silently pleading that you would not leave.

Silence filled the room as you settled there, puzzled by his actions yet wanting nothing more than to calm and reassure him that whatever he had seen in his dreams was not real. You wanted to ask, wanted to help him overcome whatever had caused the normally unshakable man to become so unhinged, but you couldn’t help but fear the answer. Would it be memories? Irrational fears? Some horrible future he had foreseen that was coming your way?

“Fourteen million, six hundred and five,” he muttered ever so softly, his words muffled by your hair. “I saw fourteen million, six hundred and five futures after Thanos.”

His hold on you tightened, and you could feel him shift until the soft pressure of his lips against the top of your head had him relax once more. What did that have to do with his dream? And, more importantly, why would that have any relation to you being there?

Suddenly it dawned on you, realisation kicking in as a gasp of shock fell from your lips. Twisting just enough so that you could see his tore features over your shoulder, you braced yourself for the answer to the question you feared asking. “How many of them- How many times did you see me die?”

“Too many.”


End file.
